Fiona Apple's Tour Shouldn't Be Remembered for Hecklers

Midway through her set last night at New York's Beacon Theater, Fiona Apple announced that she had two jokes to tell. The first: "Why did the prostitute climb over the whale?" The sold-out crowd boomed, "WHY?" "To get to the other side." She immediately promised us that the next one was better, because she'd just written it that afternoon: "Why did the 17-year-old sign the recording contract?" "WHY?" Apple just shrugged and stared at us with a devilish smirk for about ten seconds until we—chuckling, applauding, then suddenly straight-up roaring—realized that that was the punchline.

This was the twelfth night of the fifteen-date "Anything We Want" tour, on which Apple and guitarist/singer Blake Mills are billed as a duo. "We have about 26% of an idea of what the fuck we will be playing for you," they wrote on their website when the tour was announced. "But here is something true: The uncertainty excites us." Uncertainty was the default mood of the night; when Apple and Mills walked out, they turned their backs to the audience and started writing on a chalkboard in rhythmic unison, "TEACH ME HOW." At first it seemed like some kind of puzzle, until Apple—wearing a teal t-shirt, ballet flats, purple athletic shorts and sheer violet tights; the sartorial equivalent of giving 26% of a fuck—crouched down and finished the thought in cursive: "to be free."

As she stood there writing in silence with her back to us, I admit that I was nervous. Silence at a Fiona Apple concert is always electric and a little tense; anybody—on stage or off—might feel inclined to say anything they want. And the tension last night was heightened by a highly publicized incident that occurred on the tour's opening night in Portland, when a fan's tactless comments ("Fiona, get healthy!…I saw you 20 years ago and you were beautiful!") shook Apple so deeply that she apparently sang the next song "through sobs" and then cut the rest of the show short. This unfortunate incident risks becoming the defining moment of this tour. But what I saw last night is that it shouldn't be.

Let the record show that this was also the tour on which Fiona Apple also did at least one Sally O'Malley impression ("I'm FIFTY") to raucous applause. It was also the one on which she brought out ?uestlove to play on (as he did on the record) Extraordinary Machine's "Not About Love" and reminisce about when he recorded the drum track in one hurried take because he was late for a blind date (naturally, Apple went there: "And what happened to her?"). It was the tour on which Apple performed the entire second verse of the smoldering "The First Taste" with one of her legs kicked up behind her, as poised as a sleeping flamingo; it was also the one on which she played percussion on a plastic tissue box she admitted to stealing from the hotel room. History should show, too, that a lot of people on this tour yelled nice things at Fiona Apple, most of which were just frenzied variations on "I LOVE YOU, FIONA!" The most immaculately timed one came right at the end of "I Know", and everybody (Apple included) laughed as the song's last line became the perfect response: "It's OK, don't need to say it."

No footage exists of the Portland incident. It wasn't captured in any cell phone videos, and in an odd way that's what's given it such mythological power. I get the feeling that if footage were to emerge, it would appear a lot less horrible, dramatic and Meaningful than it is in our imaginations. (Related question: Would Bob Dylan's heckler yelling "Judas!" have seemed as notorious and definitive had it happened in the demystified age of smartphones?) Apple and Mills have been playing venues where photography and cell phone use is banned. I saw a couple of people sneak Instagrams or short cell phone videos before the ushers darted over to stop them, but all in all these audience members were relatively harmless. I wouldn't say the same of the girl who stood up and danced for half the set, blissfully unaware that she was blocking the view of everybody behind her, or the couple behind me who had a loud conversation during one of the night's quietest songs about how rude that girl was. If nothing else, the crowd etiquitte at the "Anything We Want" tour has reminded us that—even in an age where concerts risk being ruined by overzealous smartphone users—there are still plenty of analog ways to be a dick.

And yet, this isn't what the "Anything We Want" tour should be remembered for either. What I'll take from last night is that Apple's voice has never sounded stronger or more dynamic—a pendulum swinging between moments of delicate hush and daring violence, often within the same phrase. It's rare to see a performer so enlivened by uncertainty, or so visibly thrilled by the high-wire act of ripping up the script and building a show—and a career—on her own terms. By the end of the night it felt like there was a third joke too, though she didn't have to say it out loud. It was the one about what happened to the 17-year old who signed the recording contract all those years ago: She got to the other side.